It Didn't Mean Anything
by Mrs Dionysius O'Gall
Summary: Post episode for 7.21.


Damn, I'm drunk. Man, I'm drunk.

"Last call," the bartender grunts.

Aw geeze, I think I'm so drunk, I can't even grunt back at him.

So drunk that I can't really remember why I'm here. So drunk that I've sat here all night listening to every damn karaoke singer, hoping...hoping...but it's never her. Of course not.

So when the bartender asks if I want another, I just try to grunt. And damn if he doesn't bring me another.

But damn, I'm not drunk enough, not by a long shot. I'll know I'm drunk enough when I'm willing to listen to Taylor sing love ballads to Kirk.

"Hey," I say to the guy next to me.

"Hey," he responds.

"Not drunk enough."

"Gotcha."

"'Cause I can remember why I got so drunk in the first place. 'Cause I can remember why the hell I'm here. 'Cause she isn't."

"Been there, my friend," I think I hear him say.

I drain the glass, and grunt again. Nope, not drunk enough. Haven't forgotten. Hey here's an idea. Maybe there's not enough beer in the whole damn world to make me forget her. Forget that she said it didn't mean a damn thing.

Crappin' leap of faith. If only it were that simple. Leap of faith, huh? Did that a coupla times. Seems it never gets me what I want.

"And she should talk..."

Did I say that out loud? Guess so.

I turn to the guy next to me. "Leap of faith, my ass. My dad always said, be sure."

The guy nods.

"You ever take a leap o' faith?" I ask him.

I think he's nodding 'no.'

"See, the thing is, I've avoided leaps all my life. Nothin' good usually comes of them. Got married once that way. Separated a coupla days later."

The guy looks surprised.

I stare into my now empty collection of beer glasses. I nudge them into some kind of shape.

I bet she's not getting drunk. Yep, it's just me, just me the one who needs to get drunk anyway. After everything, after she married that jerk, after she went to his bed with MY ring on...I'm still the one getting drunk. Because it didn't mean anything.

"I don't even have my kid," I say to the space next to me--the guy seems to have moved over a coupla seats. I watch him toss back a shot as I think about what I've got. A whole lot of nothing. That is more or less what my life has become. Diner owner by day, loser by night. No kid, no...no...no...Lorelai.

And I don't even have my kid.

But damn, I still love her.

I wonder what the hell happened that I ended up just like eight years ago. Because just three years ago, I was on top of the world. Diner owner by day, but with her coming in all the time to brighten things up. And I was never alone at night. And the noise! Sheesh she never stopped talking, but I liked that. Couldn't ever let her know. And sex. Geeze. What's that? Yeah, while I've been making do with cold showers, she's been...she's been...she's been...What the hell happened to us?

And while I'm at it, God damn that bitch Anna. She took my kid. She never told me about her. And now she's taken her to some desert. I would have had a kid with her, with Lorelai, I know it. She said kids would be good. And god, she's a great mom. Look at how Rory turned out.

"Luke."

I hear a voice. Of the female persuasion. I hear more than one voice. Please let it not be Crazy Carrie.

She's standing next to me. Smells like five different brands of bad but expensive cologne. She looks at me with a mixture of concern and revulsion. Well it's just too damn bad if she doesn't like what she sees.

"Are you alright, Luke?" she asks. Her voice is serious, calm and commanding.

I answer with, "Why the hell do you care?"

"We care about you, Luke."

I hear whispers. I hear that useless TJ's name. I hear Morey's name.

I realize it's Ms. Patty. Oh great. Now the surrounding counties will all know about poor drunk Luke Danes. She probably has a chip embedded in her head, sending signals to Eastside Tillie. Telling her all about the loner who lost the only woman he ever loved.

And damn if she's not already on the phone. That Babette I hear screeching?

"My head hurts," I tell everybody and nobody.

"It's OK Luke. We'll get you home," I hear.

Home. Now there's a shocker. An empty apartment. And she--she's probably in bed with...with...I don't want to think about him.

I see waving of arms and two guys talking to Ms. Patty.

"Gonna be OK..." I rasp as I realize that the two guys have grabbed me by the arm.

Yikes! Who the hell pinched my ass...

Oh...of course. Ms. Patty, bringing up the rear as we work our way out to the fresh evening air.

"That way?" I hear one of the guys ask.

"Do it myself," I mumble and manage to remain upright as I work my way free.

"See?" I say as I stumble down the street toward the diner. Good thing I'm not in New York or somewhere where I could get hit by a car. Kirk's still up there in his box, so I'm gonna be safe.

"He keeps the key up there," I hear Ms. Patty tell one of the men.

"S'OK, sleep here..." I let them know--because I can always just sleep on the diner steps.

Somehow, they push me up the stairs and onto my couch.

"Patty," I plead, "don't...tell her..."

Right.

"Of course I won't, Luke honey," she deftly lies.

"I love her."

"I know."

I can't stop with the babbling. "Never stopped loving her. Never will."

It didn't mean anything. To her maybe. To me, it meant everything. 


End file.
